


desideratum

by arexnna



Series: ways back [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, mentions of Red Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 02:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7462806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arexnna/pseuds/arexnna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(n) something that is needed or wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	desideratum

Sleep evades her.

They’ve never actually been friends, more acquaintances really, having rare passings that don’t come too frequent or too easily, but since she’d found him again, sleep and her managed to come to a mutual understanding, a sort of agreement stating that they would try to make things work.

It does work, for a while at least it does. It was during the honeymoon period, though – she understands that – the bubble of happiness that no one can pop – but the walls of the bubble are getting thinner and thinner, and the outside world just gets louder and louder.

He doesn’t have too many problems falling asleep – it’s more the _staying_ asleep that gets him. It’s a good thing then, that she’s always awake that she reacts within a second to climb on top him, pin his arms to the side, disallowing him from hurting himself, from hurting her. It isn’t that she can’t handle him if he does get his hands on her in a fit of panic, it’s more that she can’t handle the self-loathing that will inevitably brew in him as he averts his eyes away from the red he’d have inflicted on her skin. She’d hold him down, call his name, ( _“James, James, James,”_ ) before his demons finally leave, before realisation dawns upon him – that he’s _safe,_ that he’s with _her –_ and his eyes soften, the hard of his stare turns glassy, turns watery, and all she has to offer after is gentle presses of her lips against his skin, an attempt to soothe, to ease, to comfort. They usually do work, he’d calm down and fall back asleep, but there are bad days and then there are worse days.

The worse ones are when he pretends he falls back asleep, waits until Natasha remains unmoving before he leaves, slides on his jeans, pulls on his jacket before he rides his bike into the dead of night. She can’t do anything for him on these nights. Sometimes, he needs to clear his head, and she gets that, so instead, she follows him, watches him from afar, from atop the roofs of buildings (a tactic Matt had done well to teach her), but never does she interfere. He’s out at most for three hours, simply going around town, making small pit stops here and there (her favourite of his is when he stops by the old homeless woman by Vermont Place, how he squats down and supplies her with whatever he’d bought from the nearby drugstore, giving her whatever little cash he has left. Watching him like this, when he thinks no one is looking, it reminds her of why she loves him), before he finally takes the route back home. She’s back in bed, pretending she hadn’t followed him all around town before he even opens the door.

So while her and sleep aren’t on too good terms, perhaps insomnia is just trying to help her. Maybe insomnia knows that he needs her awake more than she needs to be asleep, and maybe she’s okay with that.

Tonight’s a good night for him. His breathing is slow, and calmed and he’s not fidgeting like he does when he’s usually about to get a panic attack.

Tonight’s a good night for him, but not so much for her.

More often than not, she’s plagued by thoughts of him being taken away from her again, being ripped apart once more. She’d take nightmares of the Red Room over those thoughts any day, would rather be reminded of how they  _broke_ her over, and _over,_ and _over_ again, until there wasn’t much left to break (- until _he_ came along, then suddenly the stakes were just so much higher), than to simply imagine being separated from him again.

They’ve become more vocal about their feelings as of late, more affectionate, more comfortable with domestic endearments. After all, if having been torn apart over and over doesn’t make them more appreciative of each other, then what good could it ever bring?

It happens so naturally, she doesn’t notice enough to be surprised, how when she’d simply passed him his towel, he’d replied with a nonchalant _‘Love you’,_ to which she’d just said _‘Don’t spend too long in there’._

Back then, _before_ , _I love you_ s happened in moments of fear, when one was terrified of being caught, when he’d yell, _“I love you, I love you – don’t forget, Natalia, I love you,”_ as he’s being dragged away from her. But she does forget, and so does he. That’s how they worked – they’d torture her for long enough, make sure the pain is ingrained into her brain, until all they take away from her mind was memories of their love affair, _James_ simply being the anglicised version of _Yakov_ and the _Winter Soldier_ being nothing more than a trainer.

But what they had worked in a funny way – eventually, no matter the torture, no matter the torment inflicted, they’d find their way back to each other. It’s funnier that the whole process is cyclical. _Also_ eventually, they’d get caught. And when the Red Room, when HYDRA were finally bored of their usual punishments, they’d leave her to remember. She would remember his touches, his kiss, his words, his smile – while he looks at her with nothing more than a blank stare, his eyes not lighting up in the usual way they would, and she’d have to stand there, infected with their tainted memories, knowing there was nothing to be done.

The Red Room knew how to play the game, and they knew exactly when to play the psychological card over the physical.

But now, words of _love_ come easy, come without a sense of threat following after it.

“ _I love you,”_ she whispers, rolling herself onto her side as she traces her fingers across the pane of his back. It comes with an ease, and so does the rest of it.

“I love you so much – but I’m _scared_. I’m _scared_ ,” she repeats with a scoff, her words barely loud enough to hear from anywhere besides their bed. The pads of her index finger trails the marred skin that separates metal and muscle, the uneven pink that she knows he hates the sight of. “The Black Widow is _scared_ – if Maddame B could see me now, what would she say, huh?”

“I’m terrified of losing you again.” Water wells in her eyes, but she blinks away the tears – she doesn’t need him waking to her sobs. “I have so many enemies, James – so many who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt me by hurting you. I’ve lived through _decades_ of enemies, and none of them would think twice before snapping your neck.”

She shivers at the image, the thought of James lying motionless on the floor is a sight she never wishes to see.

“I think of leaving sometimes,” she confesses, and it almost feels like a weight has been lifted. It’s been a thought pestering her since they’d found each other again, a thought she’s managed to bottle up, to push aside and hide away, left unacknowledged in the back of her mind. But tonight, insomnia pulls it out from her. “Maybe if we weren’t together, I wouldn’t worry about anything happening to you being my fault. Maybe you’d be safer with _out_ me,” her voice cracks.

The admission, even if only to herself, terrifies her. She’s yet to come close to the happiness she feels when she’s with him, and the thought that she’d rather be without makes her worry the kind of masochist she is – that after everything she’s gone through, the moment happiness knocks on her door, she’d rather stay inside with loneliness.

“But I’m too selfish,” she murmurs, stifling a sob that threatens its way out. She presses her lips against the skin of his shoulder, just next to the line of his scar. “I can’t leave you. I need you more than you need me.”

“I love you,” she repeats, this time louder, this time more confident. “I love you,” Natasha whispers then, leaning to kiss him on his cheek as she says it.

She holds herself there for a moment, frozen where it’s just the two of them, her body on his and her thoughts fading away, and she wants to always stay like this.

He shifts under her, and as if second nature, he murmurs unconsciously, voice laden with sleep, as he mutters, “ _Luh you’t“_.

And just like that, a smile forms on her lips, the soft one that she has reserved only for James and ( _at times,_ ) Liho, before she settles back into the bed, wraps her arm around his waist, fingers grazing at his abs, and finally, she closes her eyes.

Tonight, insomnia is defeated with a hazy, and barely intelligible _‘I love you’._

Tomorrow, sleep is kinder to her.


End file.
